Description
Description Defined. By means of our senses we gain a knowledge of the world. We see, hear, taste, smell, and feel; and the ideas so acquired are the fundamental elements of our knowledge, without which thinking would be impossible. It, therefore, happens that much of the language that we use has for its purpose the transmission to others of such ideas. Such writing is called description. We may, therefore, define description as that form of discourse which has for its purpose the formation of an image. As here used, the term image applies to any idea presented by the senses. In a more limited sense it means the mental picture which is formed by aid of sight. It is for the purpose of presenting images of this kind that description is most often employed. It is most frequently concerned with images of objects seen, less frequently with sounds, and seldom with ideas arising through touch, taste, and smell. Order of Observation. In description we shall find it of advantage to use such language that the reader will form the image in the same way as he would form an image from actual observation. There is a customary and natural order of observation, and if we present our material in that same order, the mind more easily forms the desired image. Our first need in the study of description is to determine what this natural order of observation is. Look at the building across the street. Your first impression is that of size, shape, and color. Almost instantly, but nevertheless secondly, you add certain details as to roof, door, windows, and surroundings. Further observation adds to the number of details, such as the size of the window panes or the pattern of the lattice work. Our first glance may assure us that we see a train, our second will tell us how many cars, our third will show us that each car is marked Michigan Central. The oftener we look or the longer we look, the greater is the number of details of which we become conscious. Any number of illustrations will show that we first see the general outline, and after that the details. We do not observe the details one by one and then combine them into an object, but we first see the object as a whole, and our first impression becomes more vivid as we add detail after detail. Following this natural order of observation a description should begin with a sentence that will give the reader a general impression of the whole. Notice the beginnings of the following selections. After reading the italicized sentence in each, consider the image that it has caused you to form. The door opened upon the main or living room. It was a long apartment with low ceiling and walls of hewn logs chinked and plastered and all beautifully whitewashed and clean. The tables, chairs, and benches were all homemade. On the floor were magnificent skins of wolf, bear, musk ox, and mountain goat. The walls were decorated with heads and horns of deer and mountain sheep, eagle’s wings, and a beautiful breast of a loon, which Gwen had shot and of which she was very proud. At one end of the room a huge stone fireplace stood radiant in its summer decorations of ferns and grasses and wildflowers. At the other end a door opened into another room, smaller, and richly furnished with relics of former grandeur. • Connor: The Sky Pilot. The stranger was of middle height, loosely knit and thin, with a cunning, brutal face. He had a bullet-shaped head, with fine, soft, reddish brown hair; a round, stubbly beard shot with gray; and small, beady eyes set close together. He was clothed in an old, black, grotesquely fitting cutaway coat, with coarse trousers tucked into his boot tops. A worn visored cloth cap was on his head. In his right hand he carried an old muzzle-loading shotgun. • George Kibbe Turner: Across the State (“McClure’s”). The Fundamental Image. The first impression of the object as a whole is called the fundamental image. The beginning of a description should cause the reader to form a correct general outline, which will include the main characteristics of the object described. While the fundamental image lacks definiteness and exactness, yet it must be such that it shall not need to be revised as we add the details. If one should begin a description by saying, “Opposite the church there is a large two-story, brick house with a conservatory on the left,” the reader would form at once a mental picture including the essential features of the house. Further statements about the roof, the windows, the doors, the porch, the yard, and the fence, would each add something to the picture until it was complete. The impression with which the reader started would be added to, but not otherwise changed. But if we should conclude the description with the statement, “This house was distinguished from its neighbors by the fact that it was not of the usual rectangular form, but was octagonal in shape,” the reader would find that the image which he had formed would need to be entirely changed. It is evident that if the word octagonal is to appear at all, it must be at the beginning. Care must be taken to place all the words that affect the fundamental image in the sentence that gives the general characteristics of that which we are describing. Hawthorne begins The House of the Seven Gables as follows: Halfway down a by-street of one of our New England towns stands a rusty wooden house, with seven acutely peaked gables, facing towards various points of the compass, and a huge, clustered chimney in the midst. The street is Pyncheon street; the house is the old Pyncheon house; and an elm tree, of wide circumference, rooted before the door, is familiar to every town-born child by the title of the Pyncheon elm. On my occasional visits to the town aforesaid, I seldom failed to turn down Pyncheon street, for the sake of passing through the shadow of these two antiquities, the great elm tree and the weather-beaten edifice. Later he gives a detailed description of the house on the morning of its completion as follows: Maule’s lane, or Pyncheon street, as it were now more decorous to call it, was thronged, at the appointed hour, as with a congregation on its way to church. All, as they approached, looked upward at the imposing edifice, which was henceforth to assume its rank among the habitations of mankind. There it rose, a little withdrawn from the line of the street, but in pride, not modesty. Its whole visible exterior was ornamented with quaint figures, conceived in the grotesqueness of a Gothic fancy, and drawn or stamped in the glittering plaster, composed of lime, pebbles, and bits of glass, with which the woodwork of the walls was overspread. On every side the seven gables pointed sharply towards the sky, and presented the aspect of a whole sisterhood of edifices, breathing through the spiracles of one great chimney. The many lattices, with their small, diamond-shaped panes, admitted the sunlight into hall and chamber, while, nevertheless, the second story, projecting far over the base, and itself retiring beneath the third, threw a shadowy and thoughtful gloom into the lower rooms. Carved globes of wood were affixed under the jutting stories. Little spiral rods of iron beautified each of the seven peaks. On the triangular portion of the gable, that fronted next the street, was a dial, put up that very morning, and on which the sun was still marking the passage of the first bright hour in a history that was not destined to be all so bright. All around were scattered shavings, chips, shingles, and broken halves of bricks; these, together with the lately turned earth, on which the grass had not begun to grow, contributed to the impression of strangeness and novelty proper to a house that had yet its place to make among men’s daily interests. EXERCISES A. Select the sentence or part of a sentence which gives the fundamental image in each of the following selections: 1. It was a big, smooth-stone-faced house, product of the ‘Seventies, frowning under an outrageously insistent Mansard, capped by a cupola, and staring out of long windows overtopped with “ornamental” slabs. Two cast-iron deer, painted death-gray, twins of the same mold, stood on opposite sides of the front walk, their backs toward it and each other, their bodies in profile to the street, their necks bent, however, so that they gazed upon the passer-by—yet gazed without emotion. Two large, calm dogs guarded the top of the steps leading to the front door; they also were twins and of the same interesting metal, though honored beyond the deer by coats of black paint and shellac. • Booth Tarkington: The Conquest of Canaan (“Harper’s”). 2. At the first glance, Phoebe saw an elderly personage, in an old-fashioned dressing gown of faded damask, and wearing his gray or almost white hair of an unusual length. It quite overshadowed his forehead, except when he thrust it back, and stared vaguely about the room. After a very brief inspection of his face, it was easy to conceive that his footstep must necessarily be such an one as that which, slowly, and with as indefinite an aim as a child’s first journey across a floor, had just brought him hitherward. Yet there were no tokens that his physical strength might not have sufficed for a free and determined gait. It was the spirit of a man that could not walk. The expression of his countenance—while, notwithstanding, it had the light of reason in it— seemed to waver, and glimmer, and nearly to die away, and feebly to recover itself again. It was like a flame which we see twinkling among half-extinguished embers; we gaze at it more intently than if it were a positive blaze, gushing vividly upward—more intently, but with a certain impatience, as if it ought either to kindle itself into satisfactory splendor, or be at once extinguished. • Hawthorne: The House of the Seven Gables. 3. One of the best known of the flycatchers all over the country is the kingbird. He is a little smaller than a robin, and all in brownish black, with white breast. He has also white tips to his tail feathers, which look very fine when he spreads it out wide in flying. Among the head feathers of the kingbird is a small spot of orange color. This is called in the books a “concealed patch,” because it is seldom seen, it is so hidden by the dark feathers. • Mary Rogers Miller: The Brook Book. (Copyright, 1902, by Doubleday, Page and Co.)